


Apples and Oranges

by lethalgender



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood, Bottom!Cas, Canonical Character Death, Cop Castiel, Don't Try This At Home, Human Castiel, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Murder Mystery, Prepare to be sad, Protective Dean Winchester, Spoiler they fall in love, Violence, but not too sad really, just the right amount of sadness, sex warning, there will be kink but I'm not sure how much yet, top!dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-06-07 07:23:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6793204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lethalgender/pseuds/lethalgender
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Detective Castiel Novak's first case is a nightmare- a victim that hits close to home, no witnesses, and barely any physical evidence. The department and the community are anxious for answers that seem like they will never come. That is, until Dean Winchester comes forward with information that turns the case on its head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chance

When Cas rolled out of bed that morning, the first sight he saw was the flashing of his alarm clock. Six am. Why did he take this shift from Adam? Everyone knows Castiel Novak is not a morning person. Why couldn’t Cas just say no and keep to his normal shift?

 _Because you can never say no to anyone_ , he thought at himself.

He sighed and looked out the window. It was still dark outside, with just the faintest glow of grey on the horizon. Cas would much rather work until one in the morning than have to wake up before the sun rose. But Adam had looked into his eyes and used his best pleading voice, lamenting over how he just had to take his girlfriend to breakfast on their anniversary and how sad she would be if he didn’t. In the end, it really didn’t matter too much, because this shift was replacing his Friday afternoon workday, which meant maybe Cas could actually go out on a Friday night for once.

Cas stood and made his groggy way to the closet. On the inside of the door hung a pair of grey pants, a white button up, and a navy tie. The suit jacket that matched the pants hung deeper inside the closet, and Cas had to rifle through the hangers to find it. He dressed himself in front of the mirror, then added the finishing touches. With a tiny flourish, he hooked his detective’s badge and his Sig Sauer onto his belt, then adjusted his tie and left the room.

Upon arriving in his kitchen, Cas shoved his travel mug under his Keurig and selected a French roast cup. After it brewed he dumped some creamer into it and looked around to make sure everything he needed was in his bag. Cas snatched his keys from their hook near the door, locked his apartment behind him, and went downstairs to his department-issue car.

It was only a fifteen minute ride to the station. Cas listened to the radio and absentmindedly tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. As he was waiting at the stoplight right before his turn into the station, a flash of color caught his attention from his left side. Cas turned and saw a man, tall, broad, and sharply dressed, opening the door of the dry cleaners on the street corner. The flash had been the reflection of the sun glinting off the glass shop door as the man opened it. He was carrying three or four garment bags, fresh dry cleaning. He pulled a set of keys from the pocket of his navy suit pants, hit the unlock, and Cas saw the lights on a Mercedes parked on the street flash as the car responded. The suit was Armani, Castiel could tell from the cut, and his shoes were pricey leather.

But what struck Cas the most was not the clothes or the car or the fancy shoes, but the man’s face. Even from this distance, which must have been fifteen feet, his eyes were stunningly green and his teeth flashed white. The infant sunlight glinted off of his chiseled features and his slightly-crooked nose (not in a boxer way, Cas remarked, but in a charming way). Castiel wondered for a split second why he was out so early. He must have been the dry cleaner’s first customer; it was only quarter to seven.

Castiel was snapped out of his trance by the sound of the car behind him honking. He had been so distracted, he had not seen the light turn green. Quickly Castiel made his turn and made his way into the station. By the time he got inside and was situated enough to look out the window, the Mercedes and the man were gone.

As he looked out the blinds, Castiel became aware of footsteps approaching him from behind. He turned to find Detective Fitzgerald, with a coffee mug in one hand and a cheese danish in the other.

“Hey, morning Cas!” he said.

“Hey, Garth,” Castiel replied. “How’s the Garcia case coming?” Garth gave a heavy scoff.

“You know, same old, Cas... Only witness is unreliable, going to have to wait months for the DNA results because the lab is backed up. Everyone knows he did it, though.”

“Aren’t those the worst?” Cas replied, only half interested. Truth it, Cas wouldn’t know if they were the worst. He only passed his detective’s exam seven months ago, and hadn’t gotten a solo case yet. Cas had been working under Detective Bradbury for his whole detective career, and of course he’d learned a lot, but this kind of small talk always made him feel just a little insecure.

They talked about nothing in particular for twenty more minutes, before Detectives Bradbury and Harvelle entered the room with several stacks of files.

“Morning, guys,” Detective Harvelle said.

“Morning, Ellen,” Cas and Garth said together.

“How was your date last night, Ellen?” Garth asked Detective Harvelle. She rolled her eyes.

“Dude ordered a steak and then used a gift card to pay,” she replied, snorting through her nose.

“Yikes,” Charlie whispered, sharing a look with Cas, who laughed under his breath.

“Not to mention he had a piece of asparagus in his teeth the whole night. I was going to tell him but when he whipped out that gift card I resolved not to, and to let him suffer.” Everyone burst out laughing.

“I don’t know what this man did to deserve your contempt, Ellen, but I’m glad it ain’t me.”

The voice came from Sergeant Singer, who was striding into the room with a frown on his face. The mood of the room changed in an instant. Everyone knew that when the Sergeant looked like that, something worse than normal had happened. Cas hadn’t worked homicide long enough to see it for himself, but Charlie had told him about it on more than one occasion. Apparently, the last time he’d done this, it ended up being a triple homicide, mom and two kids. Cas’s heart dropped into his stomach.

“Bad one, Sarge?” Ellen asked quietly.

“Yeah, Harvelle. It’s Kevin.” Ellen put her hand over her mouth and drew in a deep breath. Charlie sat down at her desk and studied the wood intensely. “I want Novak to take this one,” the Sergeant said. “Charlie, what do you think?” It took her a moment to answer.

“He’s ready,” she said. “Alright then.” Sergeant Singer turned to Castiel and a wave of nerves washed over him.

“You’re the lead on this case. Crime scene is the hardware store, you know the address.” It wasn’t quite a question, but Castiel nodded anyway. Singer nodded back. “The CSIs are on their way, and the ME. Go.”


	2. Chapter 2

Tran and Son Hardware was only ten minutes away. When Cas pulled up in front of the store, yellow crime scene tape was stretched across the open front door. The front windows of the store were broken, and shattered glass littered the sidewalk below. Castiel took a moment before getting out of the car. He knew Kevin Tran. A lot of people did. They weren’t friends, not even acquaintances, really, but a lot of people around the city had known the family for a long time. Cas had bought a roll of duct tape from the store only a week ago. He owed it to Kevin and his mother to be as good of an investigator as he could, so Cas put his head on straight, took a gulp of coffee, and got out of the car.

The first thing Cas noticed was the CLOSED sign on the front door. The hardware store closed at eight, but oftentimes owners of small businesses like these stay for thirty minutes or an hour after closing. So, Castiel reasoned he should expect time of death to be between, say, eight and nine-thirty the previous night. Breaking glass is a big visual sign, and it had to be done on purpose, because if the glass had been broken by, say, bullets flying through it, there would be specific holes from the projectiles. If a person had crashed through, there would be blood on the shards, but there wasn’t any. Castiel thought it was safe to say that they’d been broken by a person with a bat or a pipe, or something similar.

As Cas approached the door he saw the CSI team dusting the door and doorjam for fingerprints. The closest investigator was someone he recognized from previous crime scenes. Ruby, according to her embroidered crime-scene uniform.

“Hey, Detective,” she said when she realized he was there. “Where’s Bradbury?”

“I’m head on this one,” Cas replied. Ruby raised her eyebrows in surprise.

“Well, congrats, then,” she said.

“Thanks, Ruby.” Castiel peered past her and saw a small blood splatter on the floor, but no body.

“He’s in the stockroom,” Ruby said, as if she had read his mind.

“Thanks.” Castiel ducked under the tape and maneuvered around the store, avoiding the evidence-markered blood drops and the CSIs collecting evidence. He made note of the stands of merchandise knocked over, their goods scattered over the floor, and of the seeming decrease in the violence as he reached the back of the store. Cas could see the scenario playing out in his head.

The perpetrator, but more likely perpetrators, had intimidated Kevin and smashed the windows to get him to comply to whatever they wanted, and knocked over some stands as they struggled with him. Blood splatter from low-velocity strikes suggested they hit him with something to make him quiet, and then led him to the back room when he was calmer.

Castiel paused before he entered the stockroom. A sick feeling had been settling over him since he came in the store, but now it was washing over him like a tidal wave. He hated himself for how coolly he was analyzing everything. On one hand, he knew it was the mark of a good investigator to see and observe without bias taking over, but on the other he wished that he would get angry, or sad, or something, because he _knew_ this guy. This _kid_.

Kevin Tran was only 23.

Castiel braced himself and pushed the door open. The medical examiner was in the middle of taking his liver temperature.

“Dr. Talbot,” Castiel said, not wanting to startle her.

“Hello,” she said, removing the thermometer and turning to face him. Her assistant began packing away their equipment. Castiel’s eyes settled onto the body. Kevin was propped up in a chair with his hands duct taped to the arms. His mouth was taped shut and his shirt had been removed. Covering his torso were long, oval-shaped marks. They looked like a cross between burns and welts.

“What’s it looking like?” Cas asked quietly. Dr. Talbot sighed and snapped her gloves as she took them off.

“Liver temperature puts time of death at between eight-thirty and ten last night. Several peri-mortem lacerations across the torso, as you can see. I would judge that they were inflicted within, say, thirty minutes of death, and probably much closer. There is trauma to the jaw and the left side of the head, with direction of impact suggesting a right-handed attack.” Dr. Talbot pointed to the area, where a reddish-purple bruise had formed and a cut was caked in dried blood. “Again, probably within thirty minutes of death, based on the blood.”

“Any idea what was used to hit him?” Castiel asked. “Or what caused those wounds?”

“Probably something metal for the head wounds,” she answered. “As for the stomach and chest wounds, I’ve never seen anything quite like it. The shape reminds me of the kind of burn you get from a curling iron. See how they’re elongated like that? I’ve never burnt myself like this with a curler, though. Once we get him back home I’ll search all of the wounds for residue and see what we have. There’s nothing more I can do here.”

“Thanks, Doctor,” Castiel said.

“Please,” she replied, “call me Bela.”

Cas was about to reply when from outside the stockroom he heard a pained scream. Before he could stop and think, he was already halfway out the door. He bounded through the aisles until he reached the front of the store. Outside on the sidewalk, Mrs. Tran was outside, doubled over, screaming and sobbing, being held in a bear hug by a beat cop.

“My son!” she shrieked, fighting against the officer’s grip.

“Ma’am, please,” he began, trying to keep her contained.

“Let me see him! Let me see my son!” Castiel ducked under the tape. “Are you in charge here?” Mrs. Tran yelled, almost accusatory.

“Mrs. Tran, I’m Detective Novak,” he said quietly. “I’m the lead investigator on your son’s case.”

“Please, can I see my son?” she begged.

“Mrs. Tran, I don’t think that is a good idea right now,” Cas replied, taking one of her hands. “You will want to remember him like he was. Would you mind stepping aside with me to talk?” Mrs. Tran raised her other hand to her face and shook her head. Castiel led her to his car, opened the rear driver’s side door, and let her sit. He offered her his jacket in the chill of morning.

“Thank you, Detective,” she said, accepting his coat.

“You’re welcome. Mrs. Tran, when did you last see your son?”

“About... two in the afternoon yesterday. I opened yesterday morning at nine, and then he was supposed to close.” She sniffled.

“Did you receive any texts or calls from him during the day?”

“Um... No, nothing. I told him to call me when he locked the doors, but...” her voice cracked, “he never did.” Mrs. Tran began to cry. Castiel reached into his pocket and pulled out some Kleenex. She took them and blew her nose.

“I’m sorry for your loss. I can’t even imagine how difficult this is for you,” he told her. And he really did mean it.

“Just find whoever took my baby from me, Detective,” she replied. “Find them.”

“I promise you, Mrs. Tran, I will.”


	3. Lack

Three hours later, all the evidence that could be collected had been, including the security tapes, all of the broken glass, and endless fingerprints dustings. Castiel watched the CSIs pack the evidence into their truck. There were boxes and boxes of it. Surely, he thought, something would be hiding in that evidence that would break the case wide open. 

They sure as hell needed something like that. None of the buildings surrounding the store were residential, and only two of them were even open for business during the time of the murder. Of them, one was a nightclub, full of alcohol and loud music, and everyone who would have been there was long gone. Castiel doubted anyone noticed a thing, especially since the club was at the end of the block on the other side of the street. The other business was a less-than-reputable pawn shop, tucked in a section of street with no street lamp, and the owner had insisted that he didn’t see anything.

It didn’t matter, Castiel assured himself, because they had  _ so much _ evidence! Certainly this was going to be a physical-evidence-based case, so they wouldn’t need to rely on anyone from the neighborhood.

After the scene was secured, the windows covered in cardboard and the door locked, a uniform was left to make sure nothing was compromised. Castiel followed the CSIs back to the police station. The ME had left with the body about two hours earlier. It had taken some time to remove him from the chair without potentially contaminating or losing evidence on his body. Dr. Talbot had made it clear that nothing, especially not the duct tape, should be removed from his body before she got him back to the morgue. 

When Cas got back to the station, he immediately stopped in the break room. He looked at the clock. Almost eleven. While he poured himself another twenty ounces of coffee, Cas’s mind wandered back to the handsome stranger he saw that morning. He replayed the scene in his head, trying to remember everything about him. The confidence in his walk, the glint of the early-morning sun on his car keys, the careful positioning of his collar and his belt. Ever since passing his detective’s test and being promoted, Cas felt like he had been working almost non-stop. His love life seemed like a joke nowadays; he’d only been on two dates in seven months. Both of them had been catastrophic failures.

Castiel was absentmindedly stirring creamer into his coffee when Detective Bradbury strode into the room behind him. 

“Hey Cas,” she said, heading for the vending machine. 

“Hello,” he murmured in reply. 

“What’s on your mind?”

“Oh... nothing, really.” Charlie pushed seventy-five cents into the machine and then turned to look at him.

“Oh, please,” she said, snorting a little. “I can read you like a book, Novak. You’re  _ lamenting _ .” Castiel laughed.

“What makes you say that?” he asked, bemused.

“I believe you are forgetting that I am a seasoned investigator, my young grasshopper.” Charlie pressed her selection and a bag of pretzels fell to the bottom of the machine. She continued as she reached inside to retrieve it. “I have been around you for my every waking minute for seven months. You’ve only been on like, what, _ one _ date?”

“Two, thank you.”

“Okay,  _ two _ . Whenever you talk about how sad your dating life is, you get this look on your face. It was the same one you had just now.”

“Okay, you caught me. I just can’t find time to go out and meet people. It doesn’t help that all we see all day is death and violence and terrible, terrible things. It makes me want to just... be alone, forever.” Charlie sat down at the break room table and crossed her legs, a small smile on her face.

“That’s all the more reason to go and find someone, Cas,” she said. “Seeing all this death and all this destruction just makes me appreciate the people I have.”

“But how do you make time? Like, how do you and Gilda make time for each other? She’s a nurse, isn’t she? That’s a busy job too.”

“Yeah,” Charlie sighed, “it’s busy. But that makes the time we do have even more special. You don’t have to make grand gestures all the time. It’s in the little things, the quiet moments when no one is paging us.”

“That’s really nice, Charlie,” Castiel said thoughtfully, sitting down across from her at the table. 

“Maybe the reason you’re having so much trouble finding someone, Cas, is because you’re trying to make it a separate thing. Like, Gilda and I met when I was sitting with an assault victim in the ER, waiting for the doctors to let me take her statement. I remember, I was sitting in the waiting room, looking at my work phone, when all of the sudden she dropped the chart she was carrying, and I looked up and I saw her. She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. I remember thinking she looked like a fairy, like she wasn’t real... That’s how pretty she was. 

“I met her while I was doing my job, while I was being a cop. And look at us now, we’re married. So, maybe, instead of trying to find time outside your cop life to have a relationship, you should let the relationship come to you, whatever life you’re in.” Charlie reached her hand over and laid it on top of Castiel’s. 

“Thank you, Charlie,” he said.

“No problem, Cas. Now get out there and knock ‘em dead!” Castiel laughed, but it was interrupted by his pager beeping. He looked down at it.

“Oh, gotta go,” he said. “They already have a fingerprint match.” Cas stood, taking a long drink from his travel mug before jogging down the hall towards the elevator.

“Good luck!” Charlie called after him.

“Thank you!” he yelled back. Castiel stopped in front of the elevator and pressed the up arrow. A few moments later the doors opened and he stepped inside, pressing three. The doors closed and Cas hummed as the elevator went up. It dinged onto the third floor and Cas stepped off, into the glass-doored, chrome-finished, taxpayer-funded haven that was the lab. Ruby was standing in the lab closest to the elevator, and she waved him over. Cas waved back and walked into her station. On her computer screen there was a flashing notification for a fingerprint match.

“Oh, gotta go,” he said. “They already have a fingerprint match.” Cas stood, taking a long drink from his travel mug before jogging down the hall towards the elevator.

“Good luck!” Charlie called after him.

“Thank you!” he yelled back. Castiel stopped in front of the elevator and pressed the up arrow. A few moments later the doors opened and he stepped inside, pressing three. The doors closed and Cas hummed as the elevator went up. It dinged onto the third floor and Cas stepped off, into the glass-doored, chrome-finished, taxpayer-funded haven that was the lab. Ruby was standing in the lab closest to the elevator, and she waved him over. Cas waved back and walked into her station. On her computer screen there was a flashing notification for a fingerprint match.

“Hey, Ruby,” Cas said, setting his mug down on her counter. “That certainly was quick.”

“Hey, Novak. Yeah, it usually takes a lot longer to get a match. That’s why I called you down. I haven’t opened the notification yet, I figured we could be surprised together.”

“Whenever you’re ready,” Cas said grandly, gesturing to the keyboard. Ruby chuckled and tapped the ENTER key. Three matches popped up. Cole Trenton, Caroline Johnson, Christian Campbell. 

“Interesting,” Ruby muttered, opening their records in a side-by-side view.

“What are they in the system for?” Castiel asked.

“Johnson is in for drug possession. Served three years, got out six months ago. Nonviolent offender. The other two, though, have a rap sheet two miles long. Assault, assault, terroristic threats, attempted murder, assault with a deadly weapon, endangering the welfare of a child... Nasty, nasty stuff. They’ve both been in and out of trouble since before they were old enough to drive. And, oh my, what do we have here?” Ruby scrolled her mouse over a common line in both of their records.

“ _ Affiliation with the ‘Blooded’ gang _ .” Cas read. “Wonderful.”

“It’s not enough to prove they had anything to do with the murder,” Ruby said cautiously.

“No,” he admitted. “But it’s enough to bring them in.”


	4. Truth

An hour later, Castiel was standing in an observation room, holding an ice pack to his jaw. Next to him stood Ruby, a manilla folder in her hands. In the interrogation room before him, separated by a one-way mirror, sat Cole Trenton, thug extraordinaire and owner of the fist that had given Cas his split lip. Cole was sitting, arms crossed and scowling, tapping his foot against the leg of the table.

“Are you gonna question him?” Ruby asked.

“Eventually,” Cas replied.

“Doing the old offender stew routine?”

“Yup. I would have been nice, but that kind of went out the window when he sucker punched me.” Ruby snorted. 

“What about the other guy? That Campbell dude?” she said.

“Wasn’t there. Mike Tyson over here says he hasn’t seen him in a week. Did you get anything off of the surveillance tapes?”

“No face shots. I did get a relatively-clean shot of a tattoo. You should check the inside of Trenton’s left forearm for it.” Castiel took the folder from Ruby and flipped through its contents. There were several shots of the murderers, two white males, and then a close-up of the tattoo she’d mentioned.

“Thanks, Ruby. Do me a favor and check if Campbell has any ink. There should be pictures in his file of any tattoos.”

“Can do,” Ruby said, hurrying out of the room. Cas looked at Trenton one last time, then set the ice pack down and left the observation room. He stepped into the hallway and took the five steps to the door of the interrogation room. Castiel took a moment, then burst through the door. Cole jumped. Cas tossed the folder onto the table and sat down across from him. 

Cas didn’t say anything. He just looked at him with his big, blue, unwavering eyes, occasionally moving his jaw around. Cole squirmed. 

“Are you... Are you gonna ask me anything?” he asked finally. Cas shrugged and leaned back in his seat.

“Are you gonna tell me the truth if I do?” he replied easily. Cole didn’t say anything, just shifted his eyes around, nervous. “Okay,” Cas said. “Have fun at your arraignment tomorrow. I’ll tell the judge you were uncooperative in helping me with a murder investigation.” Castiel stood up, pushed in his chair, and began to leave. 

“Arraignment?” Cole exclaimed. “Man, what the hell did I do?”

“Assaulting a police officer,” Castiel said, turning over his shoulder and pointing at his mouth. “Did you forget about that? I didn’t.” He continued to leave. Just as he’d opened the door, Cole had a change of heart.

“Wait! Wait!” he called. Cas turned and looked at him, raising an eyebrow. He motioned for Cole to go on. “What do you want to know?” Cole asked him quietly. Cas closed the door and returned to his seat across from him.

“Your prints are all over the inside of the store where Kevin Tran was found murdered. Want to explain that?”

“It’s a store, man,” Cole said weakly. “People shop there, touch stuff. I bought a spark plug there three days ago. I have the receipts...”

“Okay, okay, that’s fair. I’m sure a lot of people buy things there. Were you alone when you bought your spark plug?” Cas asked.

“No, I brought my friend.” Castiel fought the urge to seem impressed. This guy was smarter than he anticipated. He almost wanted to thank Cole for making his job more interesting.

“Your friend got a name?” he asked instead. 

“Christian Campbell.”

“And three days ago was the last time you guys were there, right?” 

“Yeah.”

“See... There’s a slight problem with that, because both of your prints were found at the scene.”

“What’s the problem, then? I just said we were both there.”

“Yeah, but, if you were there three days ago, your prints would have been buried  _ under _ countless other ones, probably smudged and distorted beyond belief at this point. But they weren’t. They were  _ on top _ of countless prints, undisturbed by anyone else’s hands. How do you want to explain that to me?”

As Cas talked, the color slowly drained from Cole’s face. He knew he’d been caught in a lie and there was no escaping from it. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair and ran a hand through his hair.

“So,” Cas said, “you want to tell me what really happened?” Cole broke down.

“Look,” he said quickly. “Okay, I was there, I was there. Christian was too. We were s’pposed to rustle him up and scare him, we weren’t s’pposed to kill him at all!”

“Why were you and Christian going to harass Kevin?”

“Benny said we had to,” Cole choked. Castiel’s heart sank.

“Benny? As in Benny Lafitte?”

“Yeah.” Oh boy, this was bad.

“You were given a direct order from Blooded boss Benny Lafitte to kill shopkeeper’s son Kevin Tran?” Cole nodded. “Jesus, what was this kid into?”

“Drugs. He was addicted, and he was selling for Benny, too. He couldn’t turn a profit off of his last load, Benny suspected he was using more than he was selling. So we were gonna go and rough him up, make him cough up the money. So we were busting out his windows and breaking stuff, trying to get him to cave. I think he was high, though, ‘cause he swung at us and Christian used his pipe to hit him so he wouldn’t freak out. And we dragged him to the back...” Cole trailed off. 

“What was Kevin addicted to?” Castiel asked.

“Coke,” Cole replied. “That’s the only drug Benny moves. We just wanted him to tell us what the combination to the safe was, so we could get the money he owed Benny.”

“And what did you guys use to torture Kevin?”

“I dunno, man, I’d never seen it before. Christian pulled it out of his bag and unfolded it like a telescope, it was crazy. It was like a taser.”

“Could it have been some sort of cow prod?”

“Maybe, like I said, I’d never seen it before.”

“Okay, Cole. How exactly did Kevin die?” Cole swallowed hard.

“We were holding the thing against his chest and the last time we did it, he didn’t put his head back up after we stopped. He just... died.”  


Just then, Castiel’s phone vibrated to tell him he had received a text. He pulled out his phone and saw the message on his homescreen. It was from Ruby, and it contained only one word:

_ Yes. _

“One last thing, Cole,” Castiel said. He opened the folder and turned to the photo of the tattoo. “Is this yours?”

“No,” Cole said, “my blood sigil is on my back. That’s Christian’s.”


	5. Impression

Cas left the interview room and sagged against the wall in the hallway. How could he have been so blind? Kevin, addicted to cocaine? As a cop, it was Castiel’s job to observe and come to conclusions about people. How could he have missed such an obvious thing? A part of him kept screaming at him that, maybe, if he had noticed and gotten Kevin the help he needed, he would never have died. He would still be alive, still be with his poor mother. 

Cas looked at his watch. It was almost one-thirty. Ninety more minutes before his shift was over. Cas had never wanted his shift to end less. Now he was filled with something strange, a weird desire that had never quite hit him as hard as it did then. Of course, Cas had wanted to solve all of the cases he’d worked on. What kind of person would he be if he didn’t? No, this was different. As tired and as worn down as he was, he didn’t want to stop. In his head, Cas could see the steps he had to take falling into place, miles ahead of where he was. 

First he would need to find Christian Campbell, to get the other half of the story. Maybe he could get him to confess, and save everyone the trouble, but more than likely the evidence would need to do the talking. They’d probably find the weapon when they found Christian, so that would tie up that loose end. Then, maybe in a week or two, he would get the results of Kevin’s tox screen, and find out what kind of drugs he had in his system. If Kevin died because of the drugs combined with the torture, then Dr. Talbot wouldn’t be able to make a definitive COD ruling until then. 

Then came the bigger problem. How would Cas prove that someone as connected and protected as Benny Lafitte had anything to do with something this messy? There was a reason that Lafitte surrounded himself with people like Cole, people who would get their hands dirty so he didn’t have to. 

“You okay, sugar?” 

Cas looked up, startled. Detective Harvelle was standing about fifteen feet away, a small but concerned smile on her face. 

“Yeah,” he replied after a few seconds. She didn’t look convinced. “I’m okay, Ellen.”

“Are you sure? What’s going on?”

“I’m afraid my first case is turning out to be just a little more complicated than it seemed.”

“Ah,” she replied. “Aren’t they always, though? Nothing is ever simple when it comes to life and death.”

“I guess you’re right,” Cas said. 

“I’m headed to my desk, are you going the same way?”

“Yeah.” They started to walk together. Ellen patted his arm.

“You know, my first solo homicide case was a doozy, too.”

“Really?”

“Hell yes. It was a young girl, about my daughter’s age. Jo was only six or seven back then, so you could imagine how hard it was for everyone. Such a little girl. It ended up that her father was a very violent man, and started hitting her mother, and when the girl tried to stop him, he hit her and fractured her skull. Poor thing was dumped on the street like trash. When I went to interview the parents, I knew right away.”

“How did you know?” Cas asked.

“Well, the bruises on her mother didn’t help his case. She was trying to hide them, kept pulling her sleeves down and adjusting her skirt. There’s only so much that makeup can cover, you know? But the real kicker was that she never said a word. She tried to, and she cried, but every time she tried, he gave her this look, this awful death stare, and she just clammed up, like she was so terrified of him. When she was crying, she never made a noise. That was how I knew.

“He hurried me out the door, too. Answered all my questions as quickly as he could, acting like he was really busy and had a lot to do even though it was a Tuesday evening. Yeah, we all knew he did it. Even Sarge. We had to wait a long time before we could formally arrest him, though, because our evidence was largely DNA-based. You know how long that takes, sugar.”

“Mhm,” Cas replied. They were almost at their desks now.

“It killed me. I spent two months laying awake at night, thinking about what that poor woman was going through, and how there was nothing I could do to stop him. The day I arrested that dickbag was the proudest day of my career. It only took the jury thirty minutes to find him guilty at the end of the trial.” Ellen paused and rubbed the necklace hanging around her neck thoughtfully.

“You know,” she said, “I still talk to her, every couple of months, just to see how she’s doing.”

“That’s really nice, Ellen.”

“Maybe once you have as many years on you as me, you’ll do that sorta stuff, too.”

“Maybe.” Castiel sat down at his desk and looked over the pile of paperwork. He pulled out his pen and got to work.

Those last ninety minutes dragged by. Castiel stood up, stretched, and pulled his suit jacket on. He said goodbye to everyone who was still there, turned off his desk light, collected his bag, and left. 

Castiel walked to his car absentmindedly, thinking about everything that had happened that day. He was ready to go home, microwave some leftovers, and go to sleep. Cas decided that he hated working the first shift, and was thankful that he could go back to his normal shift after this. He was so distracted that he didn’t notice the note on his windshield until he was sitting in the driver’s seat, about to put the key in the ignition. He sat and looked at it for a while, at first thinking that it was a parking ticket, but that didn’t make sense because he was still inside the building and not parked on the street. Then Cas thought it might just have been a piece of debris that that landed on his car, which also didn’t make sense, because the note was tucked neatly under his windshield wiper. Finally, he decided that it must be important, so he opened his car door and got out. Cas plucked the note from under the wiper. It was folded four times into a neat square, and had no writing on the outside. He opened it.

_ Meet me at Vicki’s at seven pm. I have information about the Tran case. _

The note had no signature. Cas had to read it a few times in order for it to sink in. He’d only been on this case for eight and a half hours, and there was already so much happening. Who was this mystery person? Cas wondered for a split second whether or not he should go. After all, what if it was a setup, arranged by Benny or his crew? After all, someone must have noticed that they’d arrested Cole. But Cas dismissed the notion. He needed to go. If he didn’t, he could be passing up a very valuable source of information. What if this person had the answers he needed, or a way to catch Lafitte red-handed? It would be irresponsible of him to pass up the opportunity.

Cas stuffed the note in his pocket and got back into the car. He drove out of the garage and turned onto the main drag. He couldn’t be sure whether it was his brain playing tricks on him, or maybe exhaustion-induced delirium, but Castiel thought he caught a glimpse of a familiar Mercedes turning the corner ahead of him.


	6. Fear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cas finally meets Dean face to face. Enjoy.

Vicki’s was a small diner on the corner of two streets that no one really goes to after six in the evening, in a part of town where no one really stays awake after ten. For some reason, though, and this had always been a source of amusement around town, Vicki’s was a 24-hour diner. Castiel pulled into its small ten-space parking lot and turned off his car. It was ten til seven. There were two other cars in the lot. Cas took note of them; a silver Nissan sedan and a blue Ford pickup truck. Part of him wanted to write down their license plates, but the other part chided him for being so paranoid. If he was walking into an ambush, there would either be a full house, or, more likely, an empty lot. Two cars, at least one of them undoubtedly belonging to an employee, was a perfectly reasonable amount for this time of day. Now it was six til seven. Cas decided it was now or never. He got out of the car and walked into the restaurant.

The bell above the door jingled as he walked in. He looked around. There was a couple sitting at the counter, sharing a milkshake. They took little notice of him. Then, Cas spotted a lone man sitting in the corner booth, facing away from the door, nursing a cup of coffee. That had to be his guy. If it wasn’t, then the person who left that note wasn’t here. Cas steeled himself and started walking. The man turned to see who was approaching him, and their eyes met. 

Green. Green like emeralds in a gold setting, like the fresh sprouts of flowers when winter breaks into spring. And something in Cas’s brain clicked.

“It’s you,” he said. The man looked confused.

“I think you have me confused with someone else,” he said cautiously, starting to turn back around.

“No,” Cas said, walking faster towards his table. “I saw you this morning. Maybe you didn’t see me, but I saw you.”

“You’re mixing me up with some other guy, dude.”

“Did you leave me this note?” Castiel demanded, slapping the paper onto the table. The man looked at it, looked back up at Cas, and sighed.  
“Alright, sit down and quit making a scene,” he said quietly. “You want to get Benny for this, right?” Cas sat down and noticed that the coffee sitting in front of the man was completely untouched.

“What do you know that could put him away for it?”

“I can’t just go around kissing and telling, you have to promise me something first.”

“That isn’t how it works, I need to know that you know something useful before I start handing out deals like candy.” The man rolled his eyes.

“Man, I could tell you about every drug shipment this guy’s gotten for two years. I will literally write down addresses for you, names, everything. I know everything about his business, enough to put him away for life.”  
“I’m not interested in his drugs, I want him for murder.”

“After you promise me you’ll protect me and my brother.”

“Who are you, anyway?” Cas asked, more directly than he meant to. He watched the man’s eyebrows raise.

“I can’t tell you that, either. Not until you tell me that my baby brother isn’t gonna die because I flipped.” The look of desperation in his eyes convinced Cas.

“Fine. I’ll make sure nothing happens to you or your brother, during or after this investigation.”

“Thank you... I’m Dean. My brother is Sam. I’ve been with Benny Lafitte and the Blooded for fifteen years. I heard him give the order to have Kevin murdered.” 

This was a bombshell. There was no doubt in Castiel’s mind that this was enough for a conviction. If it turned out to be true, that was. He chided himself for jumping to the immediate conclusion that this Dean was telling the truth. “Never trust a criminal,” that’s what Charlie had always told him. But something about this guy; the sincerity in his voice when he talked about protecting his brother, or maybe the way his face creased in worry. Cas couldn’t place it, but something about Dean made him seem trustworthy.

“You personally heard the order?” he asked. Dean was running his thumb nervously over the handle of his coffee mug, but didn’t pick it up.

“Yes, I did. With my own two ears. I was standing in the hall, waiting for Benny to finish his meeting, and the door to his office was open. I heard him give the word.”

“You’re gonna have to come to the station right now, and give a statement.”

“No!” Cas was caught off guard. “No,” Dean pleaded, “I can’t. If I don’t get back in an hour they’ll know that I snitched, and they’ll kill Sam.”

“I can send cars over.”

“No, man, don’t you get it? You can’t just send in the cavalry and expect them to just surrender. The first rule of being Blooded is that you live and die for Benny and the crew. If you send the police guns ablaze, they’ll gladly die fighting back. And they’ll definitely kill Sam before you breach.”

“Alright. You know, though, Dean, the time will come when you’ll need to testify,” Cas said. A pained look came over his face.

“Yeah, well, today isn’t that day. Look, I really need to go.” Dean started to stand. He pulled out his wallet and left a five on the table.

“Here,” Cas said, pulling out a pen. “If you need me, you can reach me here.” He scribbled down his cell number on a napkin and handed it to Dean, who took it hesitantly. As his stuffed it in his pocket, Cas could almost see the paranoia racing across his brain. And a part of him understood. Dean was risking everything he’d spent his whole life building. Relationships, stability, even his family. Cas had only known this man for ten minutes, but it was apparent that caring for his brother was an integral part of every decision Dean made. Cas knew, albeit not firsthand, that sophisticated, organized crime was a hard thing to decide to leave, and that it was even harder to actually live the lifestyle behind.  

“If they ask who it is, tell them it’s from some drunk chick whose name you don’t remember.” That got Dean to crack a smile.

“Thanks,” he said, then turned and left. Castiel was left to ponder what he had heard.


	7. Changes in Time

The next morning, Cas woke up at ten to the sunlight pouring through his windows. He sighed and rolled onto his back, breathing in and out slowly, enjoying the peace of the mid-morning. It was Thursday. His shift didn’t start until three. It took him twenty minutes to muster up the energy to leave his bed, a decision that was mostly made by his need to pee. He looked out the bathroom window and down at the city sprawled out below. A thought drifted across his mind. What was Dean doing right now? Was he out doing Lafitte’s dirty work, or maybe picking up more dry-cleaning? Cas then wondered if the Mercedes was Dean’s car, or Benny’s. He resolved to ask him when they met next. He didn’t know why, but he knew they would.

He had the sudden urge to drive. Drive anywhere, and everywhere. Just drive. So Cas turned on the water in the shower and washed himself for five minutes, then got out and put on some jeans and a worn out ACDC shirt. He tossed some suit pants, a nice button up, a tie, and a sport coat onto a hanger and left his apartment. He got into his car and hung the hanger up, then drove away. He drove absentmindedly for several minutes, not really looking where he was going. He made a right, and then a left, and then went straight for a while, before stopping at a light and looking around. He was outside of Vicki’s. He hadn’t meant to do it, he swore he didn’t. But here he was. Cas almost sped off and continued on his way, but something wouldn’t let him. In a weird way, it felt as though he was drawn to this place, where he had met such an interesting stranger. 

Such a  _ handsome _ stranger, he thought, before he could stop himself.

Cas decided to pull into the parking lot. He was hungry, after all. It couldn’t hurt to just go inside and eat something. He went inside and sat down at the counter. The server was a bubbly twenty-something girl named Dana. 

“Welcome to Vicki’s,” she said cheerfully. “What can I get you?”

“Water to drink, please. What’s good?” Cas asked.

“Everything but the tuna casserole,” she replied. He laughed. “Our burgers are the best in the city.”

“I’ll have one, then. And water with no lemon.”

“How would you like it cooked?”

“Medium.”

“What kinda cheese?”

“Cheddar.”

“Comin’ right up.” Dana walked back to the kitchen and Cas pulled out his phone. He didn’t have any texts. Not that he ever did anyway. He opened up his browser and began typing. 

_ Dean _

Then Cas realized that he never got his last name. So he backspaced, and then started typing again.

_ Benny Lafitte _

A couple thousand search results came up. The third link down was a newspaper article.  _ Mob Boss Acquitted of Assault on Shopkeeper _ . The article was from two years ago. Cas read on.

_ Today, a shocking court decision was reached in the trial of notorious gangster Benny Lafitte. Judge Thomas Woode found Lafitte not guilty of the assault of Mr. John Finch, the owner of a beloved flower shop on 31st Avenue. Lafitte elected back in July not to have a trial with a jury, instead requesting the case be brought before a judge. The trial lasted seven weeks before ending today in the bombshell ruling. Crowds were clustered outside the courthouse, eagerly awaiting a close to the case. Many of the spectators were outspoken once the announcement was made. _

Cas skipped over the quotes of the crowd, vaguely remembering seeing the footage on television when it all really happened. Then he scrolled down to a picture of Benny leaving the courthouse, surrounded by men in dark suits. On Lafitte’s face was a smug, open-mouthed smile, and he was staring into the camera, as if he was about to say something to the photographer. On his right was some big, burly man with curly blonde hair and a stiff look on his face. Cas was about to scroll past when he spotted someone familiar. On Benny’s left, solemn-faced, stood Dean. He wore dark sunglasses and hand was up, blocking the lenses of other cameras outside the shot, mouth open in mid-sentence, but Cas knew it was him. He recognized the shape of his nose and the slant of his jaw. He excitedly looked at the caption on the photograph. 

_ Lafitte and his associates, Dean Winchester and Leon Trance. _

Winchester. Cas rolled the name over in his mind.  _ Dean Winchester _ . He decided it suited him. He was startled from the thought by a glass of water being placed in front of him. 

“Here you go,” Dana said, putting a straw beside his glass. “Your food will be done soon.”

“Thank you,” Cas replied quietly. She smiled at him and walked away. He picked up the straw and peeled off the wrapper. He wondered how these brothers got involved with the gang in the first place. He would like to think it was one of those stories you hear in movies, two scrappy down-on-their-luck youths who live in a broken home turn to the only life they’ve ever seen, becoming members of a gang to make ends meet and have some sense of community, all that. It was easier than thinking about the other possibilities. 

Castiel kept scrolling. There was another picture farther down the page, one of Lafitte, Dean, and the other man getting into a black Lincoln sedan with tinted windows. Dean was getting into the driver’s seat, and his back was to the camera as he stood, frozen in time, pulling open the door. Castiel’s eyes wandered over the image, looking at his leather shoes, the cut of his pants, the way his suit jacket trailed over his hips, the way his hand rested gently on the top of the car while he pulled the door open. There was something about him in this picture, and the one above it, that seemed remarkably different than the Dean Winchester he had met. This one seemed brooding and dark, confident in his power and his stance. But the Dean that Cas had talked to was solemn in a different way, almost as if he had acquired a deep sadness since these pictures were taken. 

Dana returned and this time Cas saw her out of the corner of his eye before she startled him. He set down his phone and cleared a spot for the plate. Dana set it down and smiled. 

“Is there anything else you need right now?” she asked.

“No, I’m okay,” Castiel said. But the truth was, he had lost his appetite. 


	8. Frantic

Before Castiel got back to his car, his phone rang. He looked down and saw an unknown number illuminated on his screen. Before he answered he knew who it was. 

“Hello?” Cas answered cautiously. 

“It’s me,” Dean hissed on the other end. “I need to talk to you. Something came up.”

“When and where?”

“Juniper Plaza, five.”

“See you there,” Cas replied. The line disconnected. He checked his watch. It was still early, but not so early that he couldn’t go to work. He decided to head into the office and talk to his boss about Dean before it went any further. 

Cas was distracted while driving to the station. His brain went on autopilot and before he knew it, he was at the parking garage. He sat in his car for a few minutes, looking down at his hands. Cas felt confused. Why did this feel different than other cases he’d been on? It was his first case on his own, so it should be intimidating and confusing and scary and pressuring. But he wasn’t intimidated or scared or confused or scared. Castiel was nervous. Nervous to see this man again, this person he knew nothing about. He was anxious to get the information to put Benny away, for good this time. He was excited to dig more into the story that Dean had to offer. Cas was disgusted with himself for being more interested in hearing from this man than hearing from the people he worked with. He could feel himself getting tunnel vision, but the information Dean had to offer would make up for it. It had to. 

Finally, with a sigh, Castiel dragged himself out of the car and went into work. He changed in the bathroom and put his civilian clothes in his desk. No one he cared about had seen him yet. He looked at the mountain of papers on his desk and picked a file off the top. It was a preliminary report from Bela. He flipped it open and looked over her sketch of the body and its wounds. 

_ The body _ . He stopped. Not the body, he scolded himself. Kevin.

She had jotted down notes regarding the wounds she’d been unfamiliar with previously. In her precise handwriting Bela had written, “Call me when you get in, ext. 4366. I have news.” So Castiel picked up his desk phone and dialed her extension. It rang twice before she picked up.

“Dr. Talbot,” she said.

“Hey, Bela, it’s Novak. I just got in for the day,” he replied.

“Oh, hey. I thought your shift didn’t start until three.”

“It doesn’t, I figured I would get a headstart.” That seemed like a better answer to Cas than, ‘Oh I just didn’t have anything better to do and no friends to talk to so here I am.’

“Ah, well. I think I figured out what the marks on his skin are. Have you ever heard of an electrified baton?”

“I think so.”

“It’s like a cattle prod but different. They’re popular with home defense freaks and the police. I think this one was modified, though. Instead of having two prongs to direct the electricity, I think they modded it so that the entire length of the baton was electrified. I’ve never seen it done before. I don’t even know if it’s possible. But I think they did it.”

“Jesus,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Okay, I’ll do some digging, see if anyone might have made something like that. Thanks, Bela.” 

“Talk to you later,” she replied. The line clicked dead. Cas put it back on the receiver and rubbed his forehead. He thought for a minute, then picked it back up and dialed another extension. The line rang once.

“Sargent Singer,” a gruff voice answered. 

“Hey, it’s Novak,” Castiel answered. “There’s been some developments.”

“What’s going on?” Singer asked.

“I have a witness.” It felt like an eternity until Singer answered.

“Who?”

“Dean Winchester.” 

“Why do I know that name?” he demanded.

“He’s Blooded.”

“Jesus,” Singer sighed. “Why is he talking?”

“He’s scared. His brother is in the gang too, but not as visible. Things are getting to hot for them to handle right now.” Castiel twirled a pen between his fingers as he spoke.

“What does he have?”

“He heard the order.”

“Jesus,” Singer exclaimed. “I’m assuming you’ve spoken already?”

“We met last night.”

“Usually I would be pissed that you didn’t tell me sooner, but this is delicate. You did good.” Castiel knew that was as much of a compliment as he was likely to get from Singer, so he accepted it.

“Thanks, Sarge. He just called me again, he wants to meet at five. I wanted to let you know before it went any further.”

“Go ahead and meet with him. Make sure you get as much as you can, but don’t push him.”

“I will. I’ll let you know what happens.”

 

The day went slowly. There were three tipline calls, all hoaxes. Castiel went through ten files on his desk before his shift started, and then five more before it was time to leave. They were forensic reports, preliminary examinations of evidence, and written reports from those interviewed at the crime scene. Cas filed them in his desk and then checked his watch. It was quarter past four. He packed his things and left the building. 

By four twenty-five Cas was pulling out of the garage. He felt his pulse through his palms as he gripped the steering wheel. He drove like a robot, his reflexes taking over as his mind raced in a million directions. Dean sounded scared on the phone. There was a sense of urgency in his voice that was unlike what Castiel had heard during their first meeting. He hoped this would not be the end of his witness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a short chapter. I promise the next one will be much longer!


	9. Talks

Ten minutes before the meeting time, Castiel was sitting on a bench looking into Juniper Plaza. It was a squared-off area that was inaccessible by car, and was populated by trendy boutique stores and organic bakeries and vegan juice bars. Real hipster and anti-vaccine soccer mom type shit. But the plaza itself was quite pretty. The ground was laid with earthy-colored tiles, and plant beds filled with flowers lined the walkways outside the shops. Cas had parked in a nearby lot and walked the short distance to the square, and now he waited, on edge.

A young couple walking their dog passed him, holding hands and talking quietly. The dog’s fur swished past and its tongue lolled out. As it passed, the dog looked at Castiel and seemed to smile. A glint in the sunlight caught Cas’s eye next. One of its owners was wearing the same type of watch that Dean did. Castiel’s eyes rested on the watch as the group walked away from him, and his mind began to wander.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed, but Castiel was torn from his daydream by loud footsteps heading toward him from his left side. He turned his head slightly and saw Dean coming his way with a grim look on his face. Dean sat down next to Cas with a heavy sigh.

“So,” Castiel said, “what came up?”  
“Benny put another hit out,” Dean whispered. His voice trembled on the word “hit.” Castiel felt his heart sink.

“Jesus,” he murmured. “Who?”  
“Some old guy from a corner store. Jude something.”

“He must have meant Jude Harlowe. I know the guy. Is this all just some twisted power display?” Cas asked.

“Probably,” Dean replied. “There’s some woman Benny’s been obsessed with lately. She’s the head of another gang, I don’t know what it’s called exactly. This is probably him asserting dominance or whatever.”

“So these are just random?” Dean shrugged at Castiel. He had a far off look in his eyes.

“Do you mind if we go somewhere more private?” he asked quietly. Cas thought he saw a tear start to form in Dean’s eye, but Dean quickly stood and turned away from him.

“Of course. Where?” Castiel asked. He stood up and checked his pockets to make sure he wasn’t leaving anything behind.

“I know a place. It’s just around the corner.” Wordlessly, the two men began to walk. Dean led the way out of the plaza and down the street. They turned right at an intersection and came face to face with an unassuming apartment complex. It wasn’t a dump by any means, but not upscale enough to attract attention. A perfect safe house. Suddenly Castiel understood why Dean had taken him here. Unless someone is currently in need of hiding, no one is expected to be in a safe house. Cas assumed no one in the Blooded needed urgent privacy at the moment more than Dean did.

Dean pulled open the front door and stepped inside, holding the door open for Cas. The lobby of the complex was bare white and the front desk was vacated. Dean pressed the button for the elevator and it opened immediately. They stepped inside and Dean commanded it to take them to the fifth floor. It was quiet here, almost too quiet. There was no music playing over the speakers, no conversations in the hallway, no footsteps on the floorboards. Cas wondered what kind of people lived here. He looked at his companion. Dean’s eyes were fixed on the space between the elevator buttons and the floor. The doors opened and he snapped his attention to their surroundings. 

Cas started to step out of the elevator, but Dean held out his arm wordlessly. He stuck his head out and looked up and down the hallway, then nodded to himself and retracted his arm. The two men stepped into the hall and Cas was led to room 523. Dean produced a set of keys from his pocket and flipped through it, selecting a silver key from a hardware store, and unlocked the door. He pushed it open and motioned for Castiel to get inside. Cas stepped inside the apartment and looked around.

The unit was modest, with new-looking gray furniture and a fresh coat of beige paint on the walls. The kitchen had white cabinets and dark countertops, the appliances were two or three years old, and the floor was laid with dark hardwood planks. On the walls were abstract paintings of shapes and splatters of acrylic paint. They probably came with the place. There were two doors on the far wall, and Cas decided they probably led to a bedroom and a bathroom, respectively.  

The door closed behind him and he heard Dean sigh. Dean threw his keys onto the coffee table and sat down on the couch with a great huff. Cas turned towards him.

“Nice place,” he said weakly. Dean gave a pained smile. “So, what exactly happened? When is the hit scheduled?”

“I was walking down the hallway and one of the higher-ups grabbed me and told me that Benny wanted me to come to a meeting.”

“Is that unusual?”  
“Yeah,” Dean said. “I’ve only ever been to two or three of the inner circle’s meetings. One of them was when Benny was going to be arrested for that murder two years ago. I only get invited when there’s gonna be big shit going down. I knew something bad was gonna happen. So I get pulled into the meeting, and Benny sits us all down and tells us there’s gonna be another example. That’s what he calls it when we get rid of someone to make a point.”

“Did Harlowe do anything wrong or is he just the example of the month?” Cas asked, more crudely than he meant to. His words made Dean flinch, and as he watched the look of pain intensify on his face, Cas regretted saying it.

“He’s just a guy,” Dean told him sadly.

“When is the hit scheduled?” Castiel asked, gently this time.

“Three days from now. The store’s cash is getting picked up the day after, so he’ll have a lot of money on hand. They’re gonna rob him, then they’re gonna kill him.”

“Do you know the people who are going to do the killing? Is it the same people as last time? And why is this one a full-blown hit and not just a rough-up?”

“I know you questioned Cole,” Dean began. “And I know he’s the one who split your lip.” Castiel raised his hand to his mouth before he could stop himself. He’d almost forgotten about his lip. “But the other kid, Campbell, is still out there doing Benny’s bidding. He’s in on this one, too. Kid’s fucked up, man. He made that baton of his by himself.”

“You’ve seen the baton?” Cas asked incredulously.

“Yeah, man. He was showing it off to everyone a couple months ago. Talkin’ about how he found the schematics for it online, watched videos to learn how to make it, whatever. He’s a sicko, can’t just punch people, has to fucking electrocute them!”

“So, answer this, then... Why is Benny ordering full-on hits now?”

“Harlowe doesn’t owe us money,” Dean replied. “Tran did. Harlowe is just a name from a hat, to let everyone know Benny’s still in charge.”

“Who’s this woman he’s so scared of, Dean?”

“I think her name is Melissa or something. The gang is new, just blew in from upstate trying to start moving heroin into the area. Benny wasn’t happy, but he tried to make her acquaintance and show her he was the boss of the drug trade around her. He invited her to dinner, out at some really fancy place. She didn’t show, just gave the waiter a note for Benny saying something about how she wasn’t interested in a truce. I’ve never seen him so mad. That was a month ago or something.”

“Was Benny mad when Cole and Christian killed Kevin?” Castiel asked, pacing the floor of the apartment. 

“He got the news and we all thought he was gonna be mad, but he really wasn’t. He started to get angry, and then he just stopped and started laughing.” Dean paused. “I think he’s losing it, Novak,” he confessed. Cas was caught off guard at Dean’s use of his last name. 

“You can just call me Cas,” he said. Dean nodded, then cleared his throat. “I think he might be losing it, too.”

“Dammit,” Dean said quickly, standing up and walking off toward the kitchen. His hand was pressed to his forehead and he looked like he was having a hard time getting air into his lungs. “My fucking brother is in there right now, with that fucking lunatic.”

Cas wasn’t sure what to do. He stood dumbfounded and watched as Dean folded himself over the edge of the kitchen counter, elbows planted firmly on the surface, holding his head in his hands. Cas couldn’t see his face, but Dean’s shoulders puffed up and down unevenly as if he could not breathe. Dean ran a badly trembling hand through his own hair, then quickly made it into a fist and slammed it onto the counter. Castiel jumped at the suddenness and violence of the action, then took a step forward. He didn’t know what he was going to do, but he had to do something. Before he could collect his thoughts, Cas was crossing the floor, closing the space between them as Dean forced himself upright in the kitchen. 

Without stopping to consider the consequences of his actions, Castiel wrapped his arms around Dean and squeezed. Dean’s body seized up like he’d been electrified. For a split second, Castiel could tell he was deciding whether or not to push him off, and his own muscles readied themselves to let go in the instance that Dean chose to break free. But the moment didn’t come. Castiel felt Dean’s body relax against his own and fought the urge to sigh in relief. Dean’s arms rose up on either side of Cas’s body, hesitated, then wrapped themselves around him. 


End file.
